


days grow on colorful trees

by criminiallar



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-12-03 05:29:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/criminiallar/pseuds/criminiallar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’ll miss nights when they scroll through their phones side by side and Skype with their friends from opposite sides of the room, and he’ll miss leaning over whenever the mood strikes him, nudging his nose against Harry’s jogging bottoms that he’s taken to wearing around the house and looking up with a hopeful grin and Harry leaning back on his elbows with a flourish of his hands before he tips over, smiling at the ceiling with a, “Have at it, then.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	days grow on colorful trees

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by Lucy, also written for and because of her, oh, and she also gave me the title. Basically, nothing would ever get done without her. :*

It’s weird being the person Harry wakes up to on his birthday. It feels bigger than it is. It’s not like Harry’s Louis or anything like that, not like he expects a commotion, but everyone wants to feel a little special on their birthday, right? Wants things done a certain way, to be around certain people. Niall thinks of scrounging up some food -- he’s been getting better at those thirty-minute meals -- but he feels a bit silly. Harry’s the cook of the two of them. Of all of them really, barring Zayn, who somehow always manages to sneak up and surprise them with some amazing home-cooked meal or a brand-new car he’s suddenly personally driving. “The mysterious one,” they’ll say knowingly, and Zayn will roll his eyes up to the ceiling and grin. Niall stares at Harry, frowning. Some small part of him just wants to walk out the door so that Harry can wake up alone and do whatever he wants as part of his birthday morning routine, but it’s Niall’s own house and that would just be weird and dramatic which Niall definitely doesn’t do.

He rolls his eyes at himself. He knows what any 19-year-old lad would want to wake up to on any day, really, and fuck what Harry wants, Niall’s mouth is aching for the phantom weight already. Harry’s got such a nice dick, it’d be a shame for everyone involved not to pay proper attention to it.

He shoves the linens aside and palms Harry’s hips, leaning in to nuzzle the wiry curls at the base of his cock. Long fingers tangle in Niall's hair, sleepy and slow, and Niall looks up to catch Harry’s eyes blinking awake before Niall drifts lower and laps at the head, savouring the drops of pre-come. He tightens his grip on Harry’s hips, keeps them steady, and Harry's slack fingers tighten convulsively, a sharp tug against Niall’s scalp. Harry scritches the skin there a little, the way he knows Niall likes.

Niall opens his mouth and slowly takes him in. Harry’s hot and hard on his tongue as Niall hollows his cheeks and sucks his cock in deeper, and it’s so hard to stop, he just wants to keep going until he chokes on it. But he pulls back, taking deep breaths and swallowing saliva as he stares at the sight of Harry on his back, flush working down his chest, cock spit-slick and perfect and Niall’s already hungry for the taste of it back in his mouth, has to blink away the image before he can remember what it is he means to say.

“Fuck my mouth. Hard as you like. Won’t be hard enough,” he manages to get out, knows Harry’s always been one for a round of dirty talk, that Harry loves listening to the filthy messages the lucky few who score his number leave on his phone. Niall’s not much of a talker in bed. It’s not that he’s embarrassed, but he’s always short of breath, too wrung out to form actual words, let alone string them together. He takes Harry in again, and Harry immediately thrusts forward, pushing fully into his mouth. Niall swallows around the thickness of his cock, feeling the tip nudge at the back of his throat and his mind whites out as Harry slams his hips up over and over. Harry can be so sweet in bed, careful and fun and a little bit clumsy, but Niall likes him this way best, when Harry doesn’t try so hard to accommodate, when he throws away his manners and caution and takes what he wants, treats Niall like something to be used, just a means to Harry’s own pleasure. It’s not like Niall can ever forget that it’s _Harry_ , and really, it’s the best of both worlds. 

Harry comes without warning, or maybe there was one, not that Niall could’ve picked up on it either way. He just spills into Niall's mouth and Niall hastily swallows, wanting every last drop. Harry smiles down muzzily and tugs at Niall’s hair, pulling him back so that the last of his come lands on Niall's lips and trails down his chin. “Come here,” he says, and when Niall shifts up, Harry lifts his head to lick the traces of his come from Niall's lips before fitting their mouths together.

It's a long, leisurely kiss and Niall loses track of any sense of urgency. His own cock is hard, a warm, throbbing ache between his legs. He presses a hand there, squeezes a little before he lets go. Sometimes it’s better if he waits, lets it build. Sometimes he likes to know just how long he can hold out. 

“Happy birthday, mate,” Niall says between sloppy kisses and Harry mumbles back, “Decided to treat yourself, hm? What’d you get for me then?”

Niall wants to say something cutting back, but it’s no secret how much he really does enjoy choking on Harry’s dick, and besides, his cheeks warm thinking of what he’d really rather give him. He bites the inside of his cheek before shoving Harry back and rolling out of bed.

“I give you the pleasure of my company and free range of my house, you twat. What else do you want?” He opens his closet and balls up the coat he has hanging on the door, turning around to throw it in Harry’s face with a satisfying thump. 

“Sick! It's that coat from the other day!”

“Yeah, buddy,” Niall says carelessly, smiling at Harry’s eager tone. 

Harry gets up and puts the coat on over his naked body, turning around to look at himself in the mirror. He looks like a bloody pervert, Niall thinks fondly. “How’d you manage that? I thought Caroline said it was off limits.”

“It was. I’d already called dibs on it.”

“They just let you have it?” Harry asks, looking outraged.

“Yeah, since I have a good track record of not walking off the set with them, you fucking thief.”

“I forget I’m wearing them,” Harry lies unconvincingly. “I love it, mate, really do, cheers. I’ll wear it to Nick’s party tonight.”

“Harry’s party.”

“Never. I take no ownership of whatever that fucker’s cooked up.” He shivers theatrically.

“What are your plans today then?”

Harry flops back on the bed. “Dinner, clubs, you know. You’re coming with, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, ‘course. But that’s ages from now. You grabbing breakfast here, or?”

“Let’s go to your mum’s. I could kill for a Maura fry-up right now. I’m sure she’d love the chance to say hi to the birthday boy,” Harry says with a cheery grin. 

Niall snorts. “She spoils you.”

“She spoils _you_ , you mean. Everybody does. But it’s my birthday, so I’ll be the favourite for a change and get spoiled outrageously and be told how much of a precious baby I am, it’ll be great. We’ll do the decent thing and pop over instead of you ringing her ‘round. Maybe shopping after?”

Niall bites back a groan. He loves spending time with Harry, doing most things with Harry. But not shopping. Harry’s got Grimmy for that, Grimmy’s mates, that whole crew. Harry’s useless when it comes to actual shopping for actual real-life things, and he only ever wants to browse. Niall knows what estate sales are, and intimately, thanks to Harry, knowledge he could’ve gone his whole life without. Buying things from dead people who were only recently dead is just morbid. He’d much rather go shopping with Zayn, who doesn’t do it as a chore or linger either and always manages to find something suitably cool or geeky that’s a right laugh. “What do you’ve a mind for? Looking for gifts for yourself?”

“Thought you could use a few things around the house, actually. You’re a terrible host. Barely have furniture, nothing on the shelves, you don’t even have a _peeler_ ,” Harry says with weird emphasis, as if that particular lack in kitchen utensils constitutes some capital offense. 

“I have knives, don’t I? They work fine.”

“They take longer and require more skill. Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t bled out on your countertop yet,” Harry mutters.

“Can always buy my veggies pre-cut if you’re so worried.”

“Not at the farmer’s market you can’t. And we’re going this weekend, by the way. You’re not sleeping in again and getting out of it.”

And that shuts Niall up, because he didn’t figure Harry would still be here, didn’t want to count on it, and it’s not like they can’t still go to the farmer’s market together even if Harry’s already found his next place to crash, but still. Something warms in Niall’s belly that he can’t quite shake.

\--

They end up getting called into the studio because, as it turns out, rehearsals weren’t _actually_ cancelled on account of it being Harry’s birthday. “What, I thought he was serious!” Harry says with a guilty shrug after Niall’s been chewed out on the phone for running late, and they scramble out of bed, brushing their teeth in the same sink, taking turns spitting. A glob of toothpaste lands on Niall’s hand because Harry actually spits twice, what the fuck, and he knocks Harry’s shoulder and smears a hand against the glass where spittle has flown -- christ, Harry has got an enormous gob, Niall thinks, and washes his hands with disgust -- but he can’t help laughing the entire time at how their limbs seem too long, mainly Harry’s, and how they’re all tangled together hopping into their trousers and nearly falling over, changing side by side and so close like they’ve grown used to sharing the same space and it doesn’t make sense not to press all along each other. He wants to take one car, but he figures Harry will have things he wants to do straight after now that the day’s been shot, and he doesn’t want to have to be roped into his plans, so he shoves Harry off in the direction of his own car and says to go ahead first and make peace and take the entirety of the blame for why they’re late, because Harry _lied_ and Niall was completely innocent in all of this, and Niall will pick up some Nando’s for them along his way. 

He tries not to look at Harry too much during rehearsals. Not more than he would’ve normally done before this whole not-thing started. Because it’s nothing, really, Niall knows that. Harry just likes to have company, and he prefers being the guest at other people’s homes to being the host in his own. Harry hates empty spaces, needs to have people around him constantly, and he’ll get restless and move on and buy other trinkets for other people’s flats so they can feel homey and proper but really just have a touch of Harry so _he_ feels homey and proper, Niall knows this, and it’ll all be normal and fine. Except Niall also gets lonely in his house, and he’ll. He’ll miss having Harry there. Filling up the unbearable spaces with this quiet hum. Niall loves when his mates from back home are in town, but then it’s all rowdy all the way through, and he can’t keep up that pace forever, because he needs his silences, too, as much as he needs the company. And Harry is just perfect for that, quiet and thoughtful, and sometimes more than a little mad, and everything they do is an adventure; they go to weird places, and Niall starts to see the appeal of Harry’s odd little stories because fuck if they’re terribly told, but you have to be there to appreciate them, the weird spice shops and place with the clocks and that street across the park with that sign that’s hilarious if you walk towards it coming east. He’ll miss nights when they scroll through their phones side by side and Skype with their friends from opposite sides of the room, and he’ll miss leaning over whenever the mood strikes him, nudging his nose against Harry’s jogging bottoms that he’s taken to wearing around the house and looking up with a hopeful grin and Harry leaning back on his elbows with a flourish of his hands before he tips over, smiling at the ceiling with a, “Have at it, then.”

It’ll be easy to go back to the way things used to be, because it’s Harry and nothing’s ever difficult or awkward between them. This thing was easy to start, and it’ll be easy to end, but Niall will miss it a little, he thinks. Miss how easy everything was, how nothing changed but was still somehow more. He’s always thought he’d be a good boyfriend, but that’s not it, is it? He doesn’t know if he’ll be one, because he hasn’t been one in ages, and he was so young and it was before his entire life changed, and does any of that really count? He wants to be one, but he hasn’t had the time or energy, and he doesn’t want to commit until he knows he can do it properly. But he’s never had to try with Harry, and still he finds himself picking up Harry’s favourite snacks at the shop, piling extra food on his own plate so that Harry can steal off it with Niall actually not minding, clearing out space in his closets so Harry can stow away his funny little platform boots and string of stolen coats. 

It’s closing in on two weeks, so it’ll be soon, Niall thinks, and has it only been two weeks, really? It’s felt like an age, like he can’t remember what his place was like without Harry spilling out into the corners with his empty Red Bulls and Grimmy’s tatty old jumpers and all these adverts for local hipstery bands. Harry never stays longer than two, because more than that is close to a month, and a month makes him feel like he should pay rent which no one would ever accept and then Harry feels like a mooch and faintly ridiculous, because he does have two places of his own, after all. Ed’s explained this to Niall before with a fond chuckle and a shake of his head over pints. 

Niall shakes his own head, clearing his thoughts, and thumbs over Twitter, idly checking his mentions and reading his list. He sees Louis’s tweet to Andy and hastily tweets his own happy birthday before putting his phone back in his pocket.

When he looks up again, Harry’s right in his face, dimpling at him.

Niall palms Harry’s mad grinning face and takes a step back, “Whoa, personal space please, Harold.”

“Have a great night, hm?” he asks with that same manic look on his face.

“What’s that?”

Harry nudges him a bit purposefully, running a hand up the inseam of his loose jogging bottoms before tapping the pocket with his phone. “Won’t be seeing him then?”

It takes a long minute for Niall to connect the dots because Harry is too close, and he always smells _really good_ , even if his curls sometimes glisten in that way that looks more like grease than product. Harry’s hygiene is an utter mystery. Except it’s not a mystery to him anymore, now that Niall knows that Harry likes to rub soap along his wrists, sometimes the line of his ribs, because he likes the way it feels, how it flakes off against his skin. “You mean Andy?” Niall finally says, cylinders slowly firing. “‘Course not. Got your crazy hipster do, don’t I? Should see what all the fuss is about. I know Grimmy’s got plans for it.”

And it’s not a thing, not really. Harry’s friends are weird as fuck, and it’s not a competition in the slightest, but there’s that little smile curling Harry's mouth, and it’s nice to see that Niall could make that happen just by choosing him. If it’s a choice, it’s always Harry, for all of them, but Harry never makes them choose; he goes out of his way to make sure they know that. Everyone forgets that Harry’s the youngest, except for Niall who always gets that treatment instead, and as much as Niall might personally hate it sometimes, he loves it too, being babied. Hard not to love it when people want so hard for you to be happy and safe.

“We drew lots,” he says instead with a shrug. “I lost, as luck would have it. Someone’s gotta make sure the paps don’t think we all hate you.”  


\--

The party is loud and honestly not Niall’s scene, inasmuch as he even has one, which he doesn’t really, he supposes. It’s a laugh, though, and he’s loving it, but not nearly as much as Harry is. It’s funny, because Harry always looks so put together when he’s wasted, curls and smile in place while Niall himself looks seconds from vomiting -- he's seen the photos -- but really Harry’s the one that tends to go overboard, fighting against steadying hands. Harry seems all right though, with his mates flanking him on all sides, and there’s at least another stop or two tonight ahead of them, and Niall’s a bit tired at this point. Drunk as hell, and with work looming on the horizon, and he thinks he could use a kebab and a couple pints of water before bed so he makes a beeline for a minicab, shaking off invitations to keep the night going. He tells Nick on his way out that Harry’s got his keys in his pocket if he needs them and to make sure Harry doesn’t forget he has rehearsals in the morning. 

He doesn’t expect to see Harry until rehearsals, if then, but surprisingly Harry stumbles into bed later that night. Niall’s only got to bed not even half an hour before because he’d made a cheese toastie when he got back and watched some telly and was feeling a bit hyper actually, wishing he’d maybe gone on to the next club. It’s always hard to tell once he’s out what he’d really prefer an hour down the line, and it’s better to try to err on the side of caution if he can help it. He just never wants to take what he has for granted, and sometimes he’ll feel that stab of envy that Harry can go out all night and still be on all the next day or Zayn can chain smoke and not have it affect that incredible voice, but mostly he doesn’t dwell on it. He just thinks of himself, knows himself, knows he has to work twice as hard to be half as good and it’s never made him feel anything but determined and proud. 

He glances at the clock with tired eyes. “What you doing back so soon, Styles? Thought you might crash with Grimmy.”

Harry definitely seems pissed, but not as much as expected if the hardness at the small of Niall's back is any indication, and he feels wide awake all of a sudden. He’d thought before he might, for Harry’s birthday, which is stupid, he knows, but maybe more because Harry’s leaving soon and Niall thinks this would make a nice memory. 

He presses back purposefully against Harry, dragging his hips slowly before he says, casually, “You know, the coat was just a last-second thing.”

“Hmm?” Harry noses into his ear.

“Yeah, I was thinking of giving you something else,” Niall says lightly and he shifts upwards a bit so that Harry’s cock is pressed snugly into the line of his arse. “You wanna?”

Niall doesn’t want to make this a big deal, because it’s really not. He’s always been casual about sex, always had fun with it, up for trying new things, loves going back to what’s relaxed and comfortable. They’ve just never done this, is all. It never occurred to him until he got mixed in with the lads and subjected to the total loss of privacy and personal space that entailed and somewhere along the line fell a little in love with all of them but maybe, maybe Harry especially. 

So he’s never actually done this before, been proper fucked. It’s not that it’s scary or too big of a thing or he’s not curious, but it just seems like too much work to get into, and Niall’s always enjoyed a spot of oral in a pinch. Honestly, it’s something he could put off indefinitely or would do if anyone wanted, but Harry’s not the type to ask. They just, they get each other, everything’s always so easy, but it’s a bit strange too. Not having anyone to push, not sure if there’s anywhere to go. But Harry will leave soon, and it’s his birthday, and he could be anywhere tonight, but he’s here back in bed with Niall and miraculously not too drunk to fuck it feels like, and well, Niall just really wants this. 

He shifts back onto Harry, stretching out purposefully, before clumsily wriggling out of his pants. Harry gives him a little space before blanketing Niall’s body again, pulls up the covers over them, and it helps lessen the embarrassment Niall might otherwise feel, detaches it from his body and makes it seem distant from the safe warm cocoon he’s in now.

“What are you doing?” Harry whispers into his neck with a muffled giggle, and turns Niall’s head to the side, leaning in to lap a wide stripe over Niall’s Adam’s apple, smiling at feeling the hitch of breath beneath his lips. 

He wants to say something smart in reply, but he’s shaky already and embarrassingly out of breath and he doesn’t know how to articulate this spiraling want inside of him, this sudden desperation that’s taken hold. Instead, he reaches behind him to tug on the waist of Harry’s pants and then snaps them meaningfully. 

There’s a pause before Harry slips them down, sliding along Niall’s body before shifting back up. “Niall?” he says, soft and slow, and Niall squeezes his eyes shut, doesn’t answer as he rubs back against Harry’s hardening dick, shuddering violently when it rubs up right against the cleft of his arse. 

“Niall,” he says again and reaches around, pressing a hand into the slight give of Niall’s stomach. “What’re you doing here, mate?”

And god, Niall’s _bothered_. He and Harry always seem to get each other, so why is Harry asking questions all of a sudden when god, isn’t it obvious what Niall’s doing? What he wants? Shouldn’t they both want it? He grinds back, almost vindictive for a second before he forgets his anger and just feels really good and horribly desperate. But he’s not the only one, and Harry mutters something inarticulate as he angles his cock between Niall’s thighs and nudges his knees closed, mouthing sloppily at the base of Niall’s neck before digging in with his teeth.

“Come on,” he says as he ruts between Niall’s legs and his hands skim Niall’s sides, one wrapping gently around his waist while the other drifts over and palms the small of Niall’s back, pressing him firmly into the sheets, right into the smeary mess Niall’s already made of them. Niall lets out a whine, and Harry relents and reaches around to wrap a hand around Niall’s cock, circles the slit with the slick pad of his thumb painfully slowly, at odds with Harry’s rough thrusts. Niall wants to tell Harry he can -- he can do _more_ , Niall is totally up for it, but Harry seems to have his own game plan all figured and Niall’s apparently supposed to just ride this one out. All he can focus on is the slick slide of Harry’s cock between his thighs and how sometimes it presses up just right.

Niall’s letting out these long, shuddering cries. He keeps trying to muffle his screams into the pillow and then pushes himself up with his forearms gasping for breath. He feels like he should be doing something more; Harry has this well in hand, but he’s feeling a bit useless, also used, like he’s just there for Harry to do with whatever he wants, and god, that shouldn’t be so hot, should it? He squeezes his thighs together, tries to be helpful, give Harry more friction, and Harry speeds up the hand on his cock. Niall can’t stop making these hitching noises and thrusts desperately into Harry’s coaxing grip because with the sounds Harry’s making, Niall knows he’s close, and he doesn’t want to be left behind after Harry’s gone all boneless and sated. 

“Fuck, Niall,” Harry says in his ear, voice rough and strung-out in a way that has Niall instinctively tilting his head so that Harry can latch onto that patch of skin he favours, skimming his teeth along Niall’s neck before he bites down just as he shoots between Niall’s thighs, drenching the sheets, and Niall has never felt so filthy with Harry’s slick running down the inside of his legs, until Harry’s dick skids over his hole, smearing it wet with the come that’s still leaking out, and that’s what sends Niall over the edge as he goes off in Harry’s hand, shivering with how suddenly oversensitised he feels. His knees _ache_ , and he’s a fucking mess, and he almost cries when Harry drifts a hand down his arse, thumb catching against his hole, before he smoothes away the mess he’s made. Niall _shakes_ with how much he wants it, he could go again right now, he’s so desperate to have Harry inside of him.

Harry rolls them to the side and out of the wet spot, snagging a pair of their discarded pants and lazily mopping them both up before tossing them to the floor. He slings an arm across Niall’s waist and rubs a hand up and down his stomach like he knows Niall’s still amped up and Harry’s trying to slowly bring him back down. 

“You could’ve,” Niall manages to finally say with a huff, settling back comfortably against Harry. “I don’t know why you didn’t.”

Harry presses a kiss to the nape of his neck, murmurs sleepily, “I’ll not have you slagging me off later 'cause I’m pissed. Gonna ruin you properly. We’ve all the time for that, yeah? Maybe I’ll reward you if you ever fucking make it to the farmer’s market with me, you bastard,” and drifts off with the hard nub of his knee sliding against the tender part of Niall’s calf. Niall curls one hand around Harry’s bicep, closes his eyes and counts the soft pulses, and when he loses count, he falls asleep smiling.


End file.
